


Cut Me, Sharpen Me

by newtgeiszler (lizardkid)



Category: Scream (Movies)
Genre: Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dom/sub Undertones, Internalized Homophobia, Knifeplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27397039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardkid/pseuds/newtgeiszler
Summary: Billy would probably be the death of him.
Relationships: Billy Loomis/Stu Macher
Comments: 14
Kudos: 98





	Cut Me, Sharpen Me

**Author's Note:**

> "I want to chase you, find you, I want to be eluded and teased and adored; I want to be defeated and victorious—I want you to cut me, sharpen me."
> 
> \--Amal el-Mohtar and Max Gladstone, _This Is How You Lose the Time War_.

Stu was ten-years-old when he was unceremoniously pushed out of a treehouse on a warm summer afternoon; when he first realised Billy might very well be the death of him.

They had never been particularly close as kids. Their tentative friendship had grown out of being the only ten-year-olds in the neighbourhood. It was a far cry from partners in crime. 

But Stu had made a decision in the hospital, while doctors fussed over his vitals and x-rayed his bones. Lying there helpless in his white hospital gown, he’d decided he did not want to be a victim of Billy’s cruel streak. And he’d realised that his only hope of surviving Billy was to mould himself into the perfect accomplice -- a constant variable in every bloody equation Billy dreamt up.

See, everyone thought Stu was stupid, but he wasn't that stupid, not really. 

He knew Billy would probably be the death of him.

He just wanted to live long enough to have a hand in it.

*

Stu was _leaking_. 

From his lips, curved as they were around Billy's crooked fingers, leaked seemingly endless strings of saliva. From his trapped, aching cock, leaked fat droplets of pearlescent precum. And from his bicep leaked thin rivulets of blood, as Billy trailed the knife that had gutted Stu's whore ex-girlfriend and her macho man rebound. 

Fuck, Stu had never even liked her that much – he never liked any of the girls he fucked, in fact he resented them, resented having to fuck them at all, resented their passivity and softness – but it was the principal of the matter. She'd cheated on him. She'd dumped him in front of the whole school. She'd made him look stupid.

And Stu wasn't fucking stupid. 

"Jesus," Billy was saying, as the ringing in Stu's ears subsided into a dull tinnitus. "Jesus, I wanna fuck you so bad, Stu."

Stu swallowed thickly and tried to think clearly, tried to focus on anything but the all-consuming void-black of Billy's fucking eyes, the eyes that owned him with a single look, that possessed him and drove him _mad_ – not hearts-in-your-notebook mad but real madness: insane asylum mad, Renfield mad, clawing and howling and drooling mad.

"Jesus," Billy said again, "I wanna fuck you so hard, Stu. I wanna fuck you so hard it fucking kills you."

Stu thought he heard himself sob, but it could have been the squeak of their sneakers on the bathroom's linoleum floor, or a leaky faucet, or a shout somewhere beyond the open window. It could have been anything. Every sound bled into one great frenzy of background nothing when Billy looked at him like this. 

"And then I wanna fuck you back to life, I want you to be reborn with my fucking dick in your ass and my knife under your skin."

Mad, purely mad, Stu made a long, drawn out moaning sound, like a wail wrapped around an "oh", and threw his head back so hard against the toilet seat that he heard something crack. The motion made Billy's fingers slip from his mouth, and Stu licked around his own mouth for a few moments, like a dog chewing peanut butter, the loss of the pressure itself such a startlingly intrusive sensation.

"Would you do that, Billy?" Stu said, when he found his voice again. "Would you really do that?"

It was meant to be encouraging, meant to elicit more of the same from Billy, but once it had left his mouth, Stu realised he'd drawn attention to the elephant in the room.

When his question went unanswered and a silence began to stretch between them, Stu sat up straighter and peeled his eyes open to look at Billy, who was watching him with a guarded expression. They were both fully clothed still, Stu sitting on a dingy toilet seat and Billy squatting between his legs, arms resting on Stu's thighs, face leaning away from the broad chest against which it had just been pressed. 

It was an understated exchange by their standards, but it was proof that they barely even needed to touch to be fucking. They barely even needed sex involved at all.

"Would I kill you?" asked Billy, dangerous as ever, and Stu wished he didn't find it so hot, the murderousness in Billy's eyes. Stu didn't fucking want to die, didn't want Billy to break their unspoken pact. More than anything, he didn't want to be a fucking victim, his mutilated body pitied by throngs of assholes who'd never even known him, not like Billy knew him. 

But fuck, it felt so good to be desired, in whatever form that took.

Billy’s expression shifted. "I don't know,” he said.

That wasn't the answer. That had never been the answer. The answer was yes, yes, yes — Billy would kill _anyone_. Stu's own voice sounded far away when he asked, "What?" 

"I don't know, Stu,” Billy said slowly, sounding annoyed but still looking unnaturally blank. “I don't know if I could kill you. I–"

The bathroom door swung open with a crash and the deafening noise of recess poured in to penetrate their reverent quiet. Stu jumped suddenly at the sound, almost headbutting Billy in the process – how had they not heard the bell? With a nimbleness that astounded Stu, Billy twisted around and leapt up into his lap instantly, the soles of his sneakers pressing against Stu's shaking thighs, his back flush to Stu's chest. Instinctively, possessively, Stu wrapped his long arms around Billy's waist and pulled him closer, shifting his hips against his bony ass for a brief moment of relief and trying not to grunt.

A gaggle of boys passed noisily, the blur of their boots and calves visible beneath the cubicle walls, and Stu felt nauseous. They must have seen, surely – the gap at the bottom was enormous, and Stu had stupidly chosen the end stall – but if anyone saw two pairs of legs instead of one, none of them cared enough to mention it. Stu heard them disperse to separate urinals and unzip their flies, bantering obnoxiously about tits and touchdowns.

Billy's ass was heavy against Stu's crotch and it made him hungry for more. Unwinding his arms from Billy’s stomach, Stu clung instead to Billy's hips, forcing his t-shirt up enough for Stu to get his fingers on some skin, just because he could.

The sound of the jocks pissing in their porcelain urinals made Stu restless. He thought about all the cocks lined up out there, thought about how he'd always wanted to kill someone while they were pissing or fucking, about what a satisfying sound it would make if he shattered a urinal with one of their skulls. There was something hilarious about it: someone getting shanked with their dick out, getting found like that by someone; but there was something erotic about it, too. About cocks and power and how disgusting it all was, how base and ugly and intoxicating. The stench of blood and piss and cum.

Beneath Stu's bruising grip, Billy squirmed minutely. Nobody else but Stu could have noticed, it was just the slightest wriggle and tremor, a little tension in his muscles, a clenched jaw. Stu had learnt long ago that whatever his own sick, twisted mind could conceive of, Billy could conceive of things far worse. From the way Billy was trembling, Stu could only imagine what perversities he was dreaming up in that sadistic skull of his, but he knew it was there. His own skull was so close to Billy’s that it felt like their thoughts were close, too. Connected. Billy would know, innately, he'd feel it, he'd feel his skin prickling from the proximity of Stu thinking _something_ awful.

They were in-sync like that: two pieces of the same sick soul.

Slowly, very slowly, Stu leant forward to press his tongue against the shell of Billy's ear. Caught off-guard and so tightly wound, the smaller man gasped like he’d been burnt and jolted suddenly in Stu’s arms, pushing up from his feet until his torso was briefly a horizontal line in mid air. Stu clasped a hand to his open mouth and held him even tighter, pulling him back flush against him. A grin fought its way onto his expression, visible beneath the beads of sweat that collected on his clammy skin. 

Billy's hipbone felt so fragile under the force of his fingertips, and he wondered how loudly Billy would scream if he broke it, whether anyone would kick down the door and find them like this, fully clothed but somehow fucking, in their own aberrant way.

They rarely did it like this, with Stu in control and Billy at his mercy, but it did happen – it was happening right now, Stu reminded himself giddily, as he snaked his fingers around the hilt of the blade Billy still clutched. His own blood clung obstinately to the edge, and when he twirled the blade between Billy's fingers, it drooled into the blood groove that cut a long line down the centre of the knife.

His trainers squeaked again when he shifted forward to press his cheek against Billy's, and then they were pressed so tightly together that he could feel the tickle of eyelashes when Billy squeezed his eyes shut. The air seemed to shift when their intruders’ conversation lulled in response to the noise.

A more sensible person might have stayed quiet.

"Ba-by boy…" Stu whispered, so faint it was hardly more than a mouthed sentence punctuated by three alliterative breaths, but he knew, he _knew_ Billy would hear it, because they were so close, in every possible way, and because Billy knew every sound Stu's mouth could make, knew how to piece the syllables together. They had learned to speak in their own tongue, a dog-like half-language of looking and touching and biting. Sharp and secret.

Hot, furious gusts of air tickled the hairs on the back of Stu's hand. It was part of the fun, the way Billy hated being controlled, the way he fought against it. If Stu had been anyone else, he'd have been gutted long ago, but Billy needed him, Billy wanted him, enough to keep him alive for the time being. 

Outside the confines of their cubicle, the back-and-forth had risen, oblivious, to its previous volume.

Stu lifted the blade, still clutching Billy's fingers beneath his own, and pressed the tip of it against Billy's jeans, where his erection strained against confinement. They both stared, fixated, at the point of the knife resting lightly on Billy's groin. 

Stu imagined how it must feel for Billy, to be holding the knife and yet not in control of its movements, nothing more than an autoerotic puppet on frayed strings, struggling against the absolute control of an uncaring god. Breathing out slowly against Billy’s skin, he felt himself embody god and puppet simultaneously, blood lust and sex delirium pumping around his body in a deafening crescendo, an overwhelming desire not just to be with Billy but to be him, too, to share him, to share possession of his body. The blade bore down harder against the thick material of his jeans as fingers loosened and he let gravity press more insistently, and they weren’t _his_ jeans but it was all the same, hands on hands on hilts.

They dissolved into one another like this sometimes, into one movement, one breath, one knife, but it wasn’t like melting, it was more like piercing, and it always felt painful and violent and desperate.

As if to return to himself before he was lost, Stu spoke again, still little more than structured sigh. "You're mine, Billy boy," he murmured, grinning his dopey grin when Billy's breathing became furious again, his body writhing against Stu's firm grip. "Mmm," he breathed, and retracted his face from Billy's cheek to bury it instead into the crook of his neck. Billy smelt so fucking good. 

“Yo, is someone in there or not?” came a voice, and Billy's ragged breathing stilled very suddenly.

“Just some guy taking a shit, man, leave it.”

Stu bit his lip hard, idly hoping it would split and spill all over Billy’s pale neck. Vampirism in reverse.

“Hey,” they heard, and a hard, rattling bang against the creaky stall door made Stu jump. “Anyone fuckin’ in there?”

“Mike, dude--” someone protested, but Stu cut him off.

“What the fuck,” Stu growled, kicking one of his legs out to bang against the door in retaliation, causing Billy to wobble precariously until he reached a hand backwards to steady himself on Stu’s hip. “I’m trying to shit in peace here, asshole.”

There was a brief pause, and then a meek, “I told you, man.”

Stu stared at the three pairs of feet he could see poking out beneath the door and watched as they shifted awkwardly. He heard a faint noise of irritation, and then the shoes began to disperse toward the exit.

“Pro’ly some fuckin’ pervert.”

Now, Stu wasn’t stupid. Billy’s thighs were shaking from the effort it took to maintain his current position, and Stu could hardly imagine the fallout of being found like this, and he wasn’t stupid. But fun was fun.

When Stu let go of the knife, Billy jerked upwards and fumbled to tighten his loosened grip on it before it could clatter to the ground, catching it awkwardly. The only indication that it had sliced open the fold between two of his fingers was a rigid jolt of his body like he’d been electrocuted. 

“Why don’t you come in here, gayboy, and I’ll show you just what kind of pervert I am,” Stu goaded as he pushed his hand forcefully between the tight belt of Billy’s belt and wrapped a firm hand around his dick, causing him to spasm again in lust or fury or pain.

The fading footsteps halted. Billy's breathing was erratic and his back expanded sporadically into Stu’s chest. Stu didn't move his hand.

“What the fuck did you say?”

Grinning again, Stu sucked a wet mark into Billy’s neck, tongue rough and teeth brutal, the noises disguised by the overlapping responses from the boys and the scuffle that ensued.

“Leave it, Mike--”

“--not worth it, dude--”

“--late for class--”

“Fuck off, I wanna know what the fuck he said, I wanna--”

Stu tightened his grip on Billy’s dick but spoke loudly over the resulting groan. “I said I’ll show you what kind of pervert I am!” Laughing obnoxiously, he continued, “I got my dick in my hand right now, man, why don’t you come take a look?”

There was a brief, terse silence, and then a flurry of noise: incoherent shouting, the deafening bang-rattle of the cubicle door being kicked furiously, and the tell-tale clothes-rustle, boot-squeak, protest-yelp of a struggle.

“Get the fuck off me, dude, I’m warning you--”

“He’s full of _shit_ \-- he’s just trying to wind you up--!”

“If we’re late again--”

“--the lunch queue, man--”

"--Mr. Peterson said--"

As they argued among themselves, Stu began moving his hand just enough to tug at the skin covering the length of Billy’s dick. The awkward angle made the base joint of his thumb bump against the glans and he felt Billy’s sticky precum smear against it. Stu’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a half-grin, half-grimace, his gums flashing like a snarling dog. “Gross, baby,” he whispered into the shell of Billy’s ear, the jocks still shouting at each other. “You’re so fucking gross.”

Stu’s own erection was still painful, his boxers as sticky as his thumb, but he could ignore it for now. There was no way Billy would give him a hand after pulling a stunt like this, so he’d resigned himself to the fact that he’d be tugging one out into the toilet bowl once Billy had disappeared in a rage, though he still held out hope Billy would push him around a little to get his blood pumping.

The knife flashed, cold and bright, under the fluorescent light, but Billy was probably too distracted to know what to do with it.

Deciding to help, Stu released his bruising grip on Billy’s mouth. Stu could not help but laugh aloud when Billy’s head collided with his collarbone and sent a throb of pain through him, but before Billy could do anything else, Stu wrapped his free hand around the blade hilt and brought it up to Billy’s throat, forcing him to still. Blood dripped from the cut between Billy’s fingers, trapped once more under Stu’s large hand. The air left his nostrils in furious, rattling bouts. Stu brought the hilt of the knife closer and closer to his own face, the blade moving with it and straining against Billy’s throat, until Billy’s fingers were within reach. 

Another kick against the door resounded throughout the bathroom just as Billy fucking Loomis whimpered like a bitch in heat. The sound almost made Stu jump, but he forced himself still to keep the blade from piercing Billy’s throat. A nick on his finger could be explained, but a cut on his throat would be more difficult to dismiss, no matter how small. 

Stu had tuned out the senseless noises of the guys outside their stall, but they came back into sharp focus now. 

“--find out who you are, I’ll fuck you up, you little bitch,” the ringleader was saying. “I’ll cut out your fucking tongue.”

In amused defiance, Stu used his long tongue to push into the creases of Billy’s gash in titillating little motions, like when Billy opened him. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, mixing lewdly with saliva and dripping down his jaw, down Billy’s wrists, onto their throats. 

“Mike, fucking hell, calm down--”

“Alright, alright! Goddamn! I am fucking calm, you prick!”

There wasn’t enough room in Billy’s jeans for Stu to jerk him off properly but he made up for the poor angle with speed and aggression. Billy didn’t usually like his handjobs so hard they hurt, but this time he took what he could get, anything Stu gave him -- anything and everything. 

“Let’s just get out of here,” Stu heard, and knew his time was almost up. Once they left, Billy would wriggle out of his grip, probably try to finish in Stu’s mouth, and rip all delusions of control from him. 

As the group shuffled toward the exit again, Stu sped up his movements. Billy’s precum had spread far enough that his dick was partly slicked with it, and Stu used it to push him further and further toward the edge. Caught up in the heat of the moment, Stu couldn’t stop himself from pushing up and grinding himself hard against Billy’s ass. 

“Good boy,” Stu murmured, head spinning with the delirium of pure fucking dominance, “So fucking good.” 

Grinning like a lunatic, Stu could no longer hold back once he heard the door swing shut definitively behind the rowdy group, taking the jocular shouts with them. 

The knife clattered to the ground as all pretence of hush dissipated and their barely controlled breathing became ragged and intense. Stu wrapped his free hand around Billy’s throat tightly with a cruel strength. The relief of rutting against Billy was so primal and perfect that he couldn’t stop once he’d started, and he imagined his hand wrapped around his own cock instead, the perfect heat, the tightness, the slick, so much like blood and piss and spit and mucus, so much like Billy’s asshole would feel if he slid into it, forceful or gentle, it didn’t matter, all that mattered was the thought of Billy, Billy opening up for him, Billy kissing him, Billy killing him, Billy whining and foaming like a rabid dog, Billy telling him he hated him, loved him--

“Fuck, Billy,” Stu hissed, his hand tightening around Billy’s desperately hard dick, and then he realised that Billy really was whining. The sound echoed obscenely through the empty men’s room and Stu was sure he was going mad, sure Billy would never allow himself to make such an unrestrained, needy noise.

“S--Stu,” Billy stuttered, and then it became a grunting chant, “Stu, Stu, fuck, Stu -- fuckin’ -- kill you, Stu -- _Stu--_ ”

The way he said Stu’s name was utterly deranged, like he was begging for God’s mercy, like he was obsessed with him, completely and wholly and recklessly obsessed with the bump of his cock against his ass, with the huge, calloused hand jerking him off, with the lips pressing against his neck.

With a sob that sounded suspiciously like Billy’s name, Stu buried his face into Billy’s skin so hard that it hurt, overwhelmed by the stench of sweat and the noises dripping from Billy’s mouth, and then spilled violently into the soft fabric of his boxers.

When Billy twisted in Stu’s grip, a latent panic spiked in Stu’s chest, subdued only by the hysteria of his orgasm. He swallowed hard when he realised Billy was just trying to press his face against Stu in any way he could. His Adam’s apple bobbed against Billy’s cheekbone. Something horrendously sweet and unfathomably huge swelled inside him. 

Billy was muttering something incoherent. “G--ah--good boy, Billy” Stu managed, still riding out the aftershocks and grinding slowly against Billy. Embedded so deeply in the intensity of the moment, and spurred on by the bursting sensation in his chest, Stu twisted his own body forward to kiss Billy with messy, bloody lips. 

His fingers slipped up Billy’s jaw, past his cheek, and into his hair. All it took was for a sharp, synchronised twist of each hand for Billy to moan into Stu’s mouth and come abruptly, his hips stuttering, canting up into Stu’s hand and fucking his orgasm brutally into existence. 

Billy wailed like a fucking banshee and Stu felt his face redden at the fanaticism in his voice, so unlike anything he’d ever heard from his mouth before, and then it was abruptly and shockingly over.

Despite the weight of Billy beginning to hurt his softening cock, and despite the fact that everywhere was covered in warm semen and blood and spit, Stu could not bring himself to move a muscle. 

One hand was still wrapped loosely around Billy’s length, the other tangled in his hair. Their mouths were still pressed together, though no longer kissing; it was little more than the faint pressure of an unwillingness to disentangle themselves. 

Billy felt completely boneless on top of him, and soon his feet slipped, exhausted, from Stu’s thighs and onto the ground. The movement jostled Stu’s overstimulated cock and made him gasp, breaking the small moment of peace between them. 

“Ow,” he said, by way of asking Billy to move, his hand sliding out of Billy’s jeans.

“Fuck,” Billy said dumbly, sitting up and blinking back into himself slowly.

“Ow,” Stu said again, because Billy was still sitting on him. “Dude--”

“What the fuck?” Billy hissed, wobbling to his feet. 

Stu exhaled in a quick rush. It was only once Billy had extricated himself that he realised just about every part of his body ached from maintaining the position.

Billy rounded on him, taut with half-hearted fury that wasn’t quite strong enough to beat post-orgasm sluggishness into submission. Beneath the angry façade, beneath the danger, Stu could see the pure shock on his face. 

And beneath that, he saw a thin slit of blood trickling out from a cut in his neck.

“Ah, fuck,” Stu said. “The knife got your neck after all.”

“That wasn’t the plan,” Billy growled. “Get up. That wasn’t the plan.”

“Billy--”

Billy snatched the knife from the ground in an uncharacteristically clumsy motion. “Get up!”

Laughing, Stu did as he was told. “Kinda hard to take you seriously knowing you got jizz all over your--”

The laughter died in Stu’s throat when his head hit the cubicle wall with a loud crack. He hissed in pain. Before he could move, the knife was at his throat. “Billy--”

“Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me?” Billy said. “Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

Stu grinned blearily through the pain, so deliriously happy that he’d actually gotten under Billy’s skin. “Whatever you say, man. You seemed pretty into--”

“I’m not your girlfriend,” Billy hissed, pressing the knife closer to cut him off, and Stu’s smile faltered but his eyes were still wide with manic excitement. “I'm not your fucking girlfriend. So don’t treat me like one, hm?”

As he spoke, Billy began to slip back into his usual demeanour, his anger still intense but lower and simmering, all in the eyes and his stillness. Stu was not sure whether he was relieved to see it or disappointed. Certainly, it marked slightly safer territory.

“Whatever, man,” Stu repeated, still too blissed out to articulate anything more complicated. 

Billy’s head tilted slightly, questioning, but withdrew the knife and took a step back. “I’m in charge,” he said, waving the point of the blade at his face, eyes wide for emphasis. “Forget it again and I’ll actually kill you next time. I’ll actually kill you, Stu.”

There was a beat when all Stu could focus on was his own heartbeat, absurdly loud in his ears, and then he frowned, feeling suddenly sure of something. 

“No, you won’t,” he replied, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “You won’t kill me.”

The knife twitched, but apart from that, Billy seemed at a loss for a response. Eventually, he shook his head. “Whatever.”

There was still a darkness in his eyes, but Stu got the strange feeling he’d just called Billy’s bluff and won.

“Let’s get cleaned up and find the girls.”

Stu nodded slowly, but jerked forward when Billy reached for the lock. “Wait,” he said, and Billy turned to look at him sharply. “One more thing.”

Billy waited, scowling, until Stu leaned forward and kissed him carefully. It was slow and precise and Billy responded after a few moments, but it didn’t last long. Stu was grinning when Billy leaned away and the string of saliva connecting their bloodied mouths snapped. 

“You’re such a fag, Stu.”

Stu laughed, loud and raucous, and swore he saw Billy’s lips twitch, too.

*

“Is that Stu’s turtleneck?” Sidney asked as Billy wound an arm around her and pulled her close.

“What?” he returned with a quizzical frown.

“That sweater you’re wearing,” she clarified, looking pointedly at Stu, who was in the process of dropping onto the bench beside Tatum and kissing her.

“Uh,” Billy said, “It doesn’t fit him anymore.”

“Hey, Tatum,” Stu said, loud enough that it drowned out the last few syllables of Billy’s sentence and caught everyone’s attention. “Smell my finger.”

Everyone watched with horror as he shoved his hand under her nose and threw his head back in a fit of immature laughter when she recoiled. 

“What the hell!” she shrieked. “You’re a pig, Stuart Macher. What even--”

“Knocked one out in the toilets between class,” Stu said smugly, to a chorus of groans. “What? A man’s got needs, Tatum.”

“Jesus, Stu,” Sidney groused, and Stu’s long tongue shot out, briefly catching Billy’s eye as he did so.

“Bro,” Randy added, as he slotted himself between the couples. “Get help.”

“Yeah, dude.” Stu, who was wrapping his arms around Tatum and whispering an apology into her hair, looked Billy in the eye again when he spoke. “You’re such a perv.”

Billy continued to look directly at him as he kissed Sidney’s forehead affectionately, and Stu stretched his mouth into a wide, shit-eating grin. 

Nobody but them noticed the secret intensity of their shared look and only they knew what it meant, only they understood the possessiveness of Billy’s grip on Sidney, understood that it was Stu he was really holding, Stu he was really possessing, Stu who was really in his arms. 

It was always Stu. No matter who Billy held, it was always Stu in his arms.

And maybe, Stu mused, his lips still tingling from their feverish kiss, maybe he’d even get to die there. 

**Author's Note:**

> I might write more, idk, this was very fun. Love these gross boys.
> 
> [My Scream vibes playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7u4icwOJ267TCHIULBtwS2?si=-lZ1xumeTY2DZgN7D0mLKg)
> 
> [My Billy/Stu playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6Uhbc9nGq5qsGJVfQ0sF7R?si=XGyPi0ExSha7VL4RMrQpDA)


End file.
